


A Bit Of A Resemblance

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, If Caduceus Will Not Drop More Backstory Lore I Will Write My Own, Mostly Set Pre-Stream, Young Caduceus, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 10:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: “You remind me of Clarabelle,” Caduceus says.Yasha looks at the moorbounder for a moment and then at Caduceus. “I don’t see the resemblance.”Caduceus chuckles. “I meant my sister.”





	A Bit Of A Resemblance

**Author's Note:**

> Caduceus keeps dropping these little bits about his family, I had to do something with them. Is Clarabelle the same sister who did the thing to Caduceus's knee? Wondering about that lead me to this fic. Between Clarabelle the firbolg and Clarabelle the moorbounder, the name Clarabelle doesn't even look like a real name anymore. Enjoy!

Caduceus wakes up early. Caduceus always wakes up early, a habit ingrained in him since almost forever. No slugabeds in the Clay household, not when the Blooming Grove acquired so much attention. Even on the road or at inns or at sea, Caduceus is usually up by sunrise, and he has a deep appreciation for the quiet of dawn. Except this morning the dawn is not so quiet, filled with rustling noises and low growls. The moorbounders are restless. Well, one of them is, anyway.

Caduceus yawns, stretching the stiffness from his tall frame before rising, grabbing his staff and walking over to the boundary of Caleb’s protective magic. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and everything is cast in the silvery-gray light of pre-dawn, making the plains of Xhorhas seem even more otherworldly and barren. He looks to where the moorbounders bedded down for the night and sure enough, Clarabelle is the one who’s awake, making purring, chirping sounds as she prods at Jannik. Jannik growls softly, opening one eye and taking a lazy swipe at Clarabelle, who backs out of the way. Undaunted, Clarabelle heads over to Yarnball and headbutts them in the shoulder. Yarnball blinks for a moment before yawning widely and closing their eyes again. The second time Clarabelle headbutts Yarnball, she doesn’t get any response but a low growl.

Caduceus can’t help but smile slightly when Clarabelle walks over to the magic bubble and sniffs at it, her nostril slits flaring. She can’t see inside, Caleb always makes it so that no one can see in from the outside, but she must be able to smell Caduceus through the magic barrier. She bats at the bubble with a paw, purring.

_All the Clay children sleep together in a pile, the oldest ones on the outside, the youngest ones in the middle. Which means that when one person moves, everyone knows it._

_Caduceus, smack in the middle of the pile as the youngest, feels someone next to him moving around._

_“Clarabelle, go back to sleep,” one of his sisters murmurs._

_“But I’m bored!” It’s a whisper and a whine, and Caduceus’s ears twitch at the sound of it as he pulls himself into a tighter ball._

_“It’s not even dawn yet,” one of his brothers says._

_“So? It’s still light enough outside to see.”_

_This happens several times a week, so it’s no surprise when Caduceus feels a tug on his arm. He lays very still, pretending to be asleep._

_“Caduceus,” Clarabelle whispers loudly in his ear as she tugs harder on his arm. “I know you’re faking.”_

_Caduceus squeezes his eyes shut even tighter for a moment, only to squeak and open them when she pokes him hard in the side. Her eyes are inches from his own, the hard gray of storm clouds._

_“C’mon!” Clarabelle says impatiently. “Let’s go do something!”_

_Clarabelle is the weird one of the family, never content or quiet or still for more than a few minutes at a time. Even in her sleep she murmurs and kicks, unable to find peace in her dreams. As full of energy as a squirrel and louder than a blue jay, she’s the exact opposite of Caduceus, who hadn’t even started talking until a few seasons ago, much later than any of his siblings._

_If Caduceus refuses to get up, he knows what will happen next. She’ll start crying, and_ **_everyone_ ** _will wake up. Clarabelle can summon a full storm of tears in the space of a blink. There’s a reason why Momma’s nickname for her is Tempest._

_“As long as we stay inside the fence,” Caduceus says quietly. That’s the rule, after all. No going past the fence before sunrise._

_“Fine, scaredy-baby,” Clarabelle says as she tugs even harder at his arm, but she sounds more affectionate than annoyed. Caduceus winces and extracts himself from the pile before his sister can do any real damage. She doesn’t know her own strength sometimes. “We can go pick blackberries if you want.”_

_Blackberries are Caduceus’s most favorite thing, and he smiles as Clarabelle pulls him through the door and out into the gray twilight. The gravestones cast familiar shadows against the coming dawn, all except for one, which has an untidy pile of earth mounded beside it. Caduceus frowns and stops in his tracks, ears up and twitching like a rabbit’s._

_“C’mon!” Clarabelle half-whispers, yanking on his arm._

_Caduceus shakes his head silently, then points towards the grave. Clarabelle turns and Caduceus hears the tiny hitch of her breath as her eyes grow wide and her ears go flat. Together the two of them creep silently towards the open grave._

_Caduceus has been told stories about the dead crawling out of the earth of course, but that can’t happen here, not in ground blessed by the Wildmother. He can see the marks left by shovels, and the flowers that had once grown on the grave of_ _Araniel Elenos lay broken and mixed in with the disturbed earth. The sight of those dying flowers is wrong, as wrong as the empty grave, as dark as a hole in the world. He clings to his sister with tears in his eyes._

_Clarabelle stares at the empty grave as well, her ears still laid back, her breathing short and sharp, her hands clenched into fists. When a twig snaps in the distance her head jerks toward the sound as she stares past the open gate, past the vines with their thorns. There’s the sound of another twig snapping and Clarabelle starts walking towards the gate._

_This time it’s Caduceus who pulls on her arm. She_ **_can’t_ ** _go after them. She’s older and taller and stronger than him, but he’s sure she’d be no match for the kind of folks who would disturb sacred ground to dig up a body._

_Clarabelle ignores him, just keeps striding towards the gate. “This isn’t right,” she growls. “How dare—“_

_Caduceus has never heard Clarabelle be angry before. Sullen or upset or tearful, yes, but usually she was as slow to anger as any other member of the Clay household. He tugs harder at her arm, words dying in his throat._

_“Let me go, Caddy,” she hisses, not slowing down. “They’re going to get away! I have to—“_

_Caduceus plants his feet and pulls as hard as he can at the same instant Clarabelle violently yanks her arm from his grasp. He lands hard on the ground, but it’s shock and not pain that makes him start to cry. Everything is wrong and he just wants it to_ **_stop_ ** _._

_Clarabelle takes one more step away from him before her shoulders hunch and she turns back towards Caduceus. Emotions roll over her face like storm clouds as she helps him back to his feet, as the rest of the family emerge from the temple to see what the commotion is._

_“I’m sorry,” Clarabelle whispers as she holds him too tight, shaking, her voice still laced with anger._

_The grave robbers are found and the body is returned to its rightful place, but nothing is the same after that day._

Caduceus steps out of the bubble, his breath steaming in the cold morning air. It’s always a shock, going from the magical warmth of the bubble to the weather outside, and he immediately regrets not making a cup of tea first. He considers going back in to do just that, but instead he reaches down and rubs the stiffness from his left knee. It’s just stiff and not aching, and when he looks to the sky he sees the same dull gray clouds that have hung overhead for days. Rain later maybe, but not rain now.

Clarabelle spots him, and her excited chirp is all the warning Caduceus gets before she pounces, too quick to dodge. He hits the ground hard, flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him and one of Clarabelle’s large paws on his chest. She blinks down at him, her inner eyelid sliding across her eyes briefly in a beautiful, eerie sort of way as her nostrils flare.

“Hey there,” Caduceus manages to wheeze out. “Could you let me up, please?”

Clarabelle continues to stare at him, completely silent.

Caduceus is suddenly reminded of the jungle, of the large, strange cat that had ambushed him, the one with the snakes sprouting from its fur. He breathes as deeply as he can to try and calm himself. He can magically compel Clarabelle to get off of him, but he feels it’d be a breach of trust somehow. Still, he will use magic if he has to.

“Clarabelle? Please?”

_Seasons pass, as seasons do. The forest around them, which had been mostly safe, slowly became darker, the thorny vines surrounding the grove wearing away the first of what would become three fences. More spirits drifted through the woods these days, the ghosts of those who died in the forest, the unquiet dead joined by beasts that had been tainted by the growing corruption surrounding them. There are still grave robbers and thieves, even though their numbers have dwindled, no doubt because of the escalating danger of the wood. Caduceus and Clarabelle have new lessons after morning chores now where before they had been reserved for their older siblings: self-defense, both by mundane means and magical ones._

_Caduceus trains dutifully, though he’d rather be spending his time tending to the plants in the meditation garden behind the temple. It’s his most favorite place to be, and sometimes he hears the Wildmother whispering to him when he works. The first time the strange, soft voice had spoken to him, thanking him for his devotion to the garden, he had run inside and told Momma right away, worried that a ghost had gotten into the garden, but she had only smiled and hugged him._

_“That’s the voice of the Wildmother,” she had told him. “You should listen extra closely when She speaks.”_

_“Will She tell me how to heal people?” Caduceus had asked. Everyone at the temple except for himself and Clarabelle had magic. All he wanted to know was how to heal. He dreamt about it sometimes._

_“She might,” his mother had said, gently stroking his hair. “And She might not. Not everyone who serves the Wildmother has magic, Caduceus, and those that do aren’t better or holier or more loved than those that don’t. We’re just able to serve Her in a different way, that’s all, and She loves all of us the same.”_

_“I wish I had magic,” Clarabelle says one morning while they’re training. She’s looking over at their eldest sister, whose staff shimmers with a faint green light as she parries a blow from their oldest brother. “I’d turn into a bear if I could.”_

_“Not me,” Caduceus says quietly as he brings his staff up easily to block one of Clarabelle’s blows. His staff isn’t magic, but it does have a lot of holes in it that beetles and things crawl in and out of, which he thinks is even better. It’s a little too big for him really, but he refuses to part with it. “I want to heal people. And help make flowers grow maybe. That’d be nice.” He wonders if the Wildmother whispers to Clarabelle too, or if the Goddess would have to shout to get her attention instead._

_Clarabelle frowns and her eyes turn stormy as she strikes at Caduceus once more. This time when Caduceus blocks the blow, the impact is enough to make him stagger slightly._

_“You’re hitting too hard again,” Caduceus says. “We’re just training. We’re not supposed to try and hurt each other.”_

_Clarabelle has changed as she’s grown older, but like the changes to the wood surrounding their home, Caduceus doesn’t like them. He hasn’t heard her laugh in what feels like a season, and she rarely smiles anymore. Momma says she’s going through a phase, that sometimes growing up is just like that, but Caduceus isn’t sure that’s all it is. Some mornings he wakes up with Clarabelle curled around him so tightly he can barely breathe, her hands grasping at his arms hard enough to leave bruises. Other times he wakes before sunrise to find her gone, only to see her prowling the borders of the fence, avoiding the warding glyphs._

_“You’re just not strong enough,” Clarabelle says, sounding annoyed. She swings again, a little wilder this time, and Caduceus blocks it once more, wincing at the sharp sound of the staves striking each other. “Are you going to ask the bandits and the grave robbers not to hit so hard? Are you going to stop them with flowers?”_

_Clarabelle sounds so_ **_angry_ ** _, she always seems to be angry when they train. Caduceus had thought it had something to do with him, that she thought he wasn’t trying hard enough, but with her remark about grave robbers he suddenly realizes what’s been wrong all this time. He remembers that morning when everything had changed, how she had shook when she held him. She’s angry, but he realizes now where that anger sparks from, and that it’s not directed at him. It’s not directed outward._

_“Clarabelle, stop,” Caduceus says, starting to lower his staff. “You don’t have to be scared—“_

_But Clarabelle isn’t looking at him, her eyes shut tight, tears leaking from the corners, her staff already in mid-swing. Her eyes open again when there isn’t the sound of wood meeting wood, just the soft thunk of something solid hitting flesh and bone and cartilage._

_There is a moment where they both stare at each other, Caduceus’s mouth still open in mid-sentence, Clarabelle’s anger falling from her face, revealing the fear that has always lain behind it as her eyes widen. She drops her staff as if it had suddenly turned into a poisonous snake._

_“You were supposed to block it,” Clarabelle says weakly, her voice very small._

_The pain hits him then, sudden and sharp as his knee buckles, as he falls to the ground, as the world goes white and gray and black._

Clarabelle lifts her paw and steps back, her head lowered in a way that seems both submissive and apologetic as Caduceus gets to his feet.

Caduceus reaches out and rubs the top of the moorbounder’s head. “Hey, it’s all right,” he says reassuringly. “No lasting harm done.”

Clarabelle purrs, eyes closed into slits, and then bumps her head into Caduceus’s chest so hard that he ends up back on the ground again. This time he just laughs.

“Caduceus?” The speaker’s voice is soft, but then it always is, except for in battle. “Is she giving you trouble?”

_For the first time in his life that he remembers, Caduceus gets to sleep by_ **_himself_ ** _, a privilege afforded to him on account that he is recovering from his injury, his knee still aching and tender despite his Momma’s healing touch. So he’s surprised when he’s woken up by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes, blinking drowsily, still feeling dopey from the tea Momma had given him to help him sleep, but there is no one near him._

_Maybe it had just been a part of his dream. He had been dreaming about the meditation garden, how beautiful it had looked in the moonlight as he had walked the pathways. There had been the sound of someone crying, he had been trying to find them. Even waking, he still feels that pull._

_Clarabelle hadn’t been there when Caduceus had first woken up after the incident, and when he had asked, because it was the first thing he had asked, if Clarabelle was okay, he had been told that she had gone into the meditation garden. Caduceus doesn’t have to look over at the pile of his sleeping siblings to know that Clarabelle was still not among them._

_Caduceus’s staff is beside him within easy reach, and he uses it to help him stand, careful not to make a sound even as his knee protests the motion. He’s sure that someone will call out to him at any moment and he will be caught, but no one wakes as he makes his way outside. It’s not an easy walk to the meditation gardens, not with his knee aching, but the staff helps. He pauses at the beginning of the path into the garden proper. It was understood among their family that if one of them went into the garden for reasons other than routine plant tending, they were to be left alone unless there was an emergency, or if more than three days had passed. But there is the gentle whisper of wind among the grass and he feels that pull again, that wordless entreaty to keep going. So he does._

_The moonlight turns the pebbled path to silver, softening the edges of the sharp leaved plants. If it were morning there would be the gentle hum of bees among the bee balm, but instead only a few fireflies blink above the flowers. It’s peaceful, beautiful, and Caduceus marvels at it even as he leans heavily on his staff, thankful that the stones are smooth under his bare feet, though it wouldn’t have mattered to him if they had been rough. He would have walked over them regardless._

_Eventually the path widens into a small clearing, grass and moss soft under his feet. The moonlight shines off the small, trickling stream and off of his sister’s dark hair as she kneels in front of the statue of the Wildmother that one of their ancestors had carved seasons upon seasons ago. For a moment Caduceus sees Her, not as stone, but as a figure kneeling in front of his sister, head bent as if whispering in her ear. Caduceus stays very, very still as the Wildmother raises Her head and looks at him, Her smile soft and welcoming as She beckons him to come forward before vanishing into starlight and mist._

_Clarabelle doesn’t look at him as he settles down next to her awkwardly, one leg outstretched, but he knows she knows he’s there. He waits, letting quiet fill the night between them._

_“I’m sorry,” Clarabelle says softly, still not looking at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”_

_“I know,” Caduceus says. There had never been any doubt in his mind about that. “It’s all right.”_

_“No it isn’t,” Clarabelle says firmly. “It’s not all right. Nothing has been all right for a while. I—“ She shifts on the moss. “I keep having these dreams. Sometimes I dream that the grave-robbers come and they try to hurt all of us, and I can’t do anything to stop them, and they take you away. Sometimes I dream that you’re all alone here, and something terrible happens, and I’m not there to protect you. I dream about open skies and barren fields and giant worms burrowing under the earth and gnawing at the roots of trees and everything sickens and dies. And after every dream I wake up feeling powerless and scared and_ **_angry,_ ** _because something is wrong in the world and I don’t know how to_ **_stop_ ** _it.”_

_Clarabelle raises her head and looks at the statue of the Wildmother. “She spoke to me. She told me that if I can focus, I can make my anger into a weapon. But I’m scared that I’ll hurt the wrong people with it, if I do that.”_

_Caduceus leans over and puts an arm around his sister, drawing her close. “Maybe it’s like any other weapon, and you just have to be careful when you’re learning how to use it.”_

_Clarabelle laughs, and Wildmother bless it has been such a long time since he’s heard Clarabelle laugh. He had missed it more than he realized. “You’re the one who’s good at being careful. Maybe you can teach me.”_

_They leave the garden together at dawn, Caduceus leaning against his sister instead of his staff. Clarabelle stops on their way to pick some blackberries for him, not minding the scratches she gets from their thorns. When Caduceus accepts the fruit from her, they’re both surprised when warmth flows from his touch and the minor wounds heal themselves. Clarabelle laughs again and Caduceus joins her, delighted._

_Just like before, nothing is the same after that day._

Caduceus sits up and regards Yasha as she steps through the bubble and out onto the plains proper. She’s eyeing Clarabelle a little warily as Caduceus picks up his staff and gets to his feet, her posture not quite at ease. She’s ridden both Jannik and Yarnball, but she’s had little interaction with Clarabelle.

“She’s just playing,” Caduceus says as Clarabelle chirps at Yasha, her hindquarters wiggling in a way that signals an oncoming pounce. “Clarabelle? Sit.”

Clarabelle grumbles but obeys, sitting with a huff as Yasha approaches her. Yasha reaches out a hand, letting Clarabelle smell it before slowly moving her hand up to rub behind her ear flaps. Clarabelle purrs and leans into Yasha’s touch. Yasha’s smile is a small thing, but it’s there. “Good girl.”

Caduceus watches them, and a thought connects in his head in a way it hadn’t before. He thinks about his sister, Clarabelle, about how she eventually learned to temper and hone her anger, had learned to wield it like a sword and to sheathe it like one as well. “You remind me of Clarabelle,” he says.

Yasha looks at the moorbounder for a moment and then at Caduceus. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

Caduceus chuckles. “I meant my sister.”

“Oh.” Yasha nods her head towards him. “The one who injured your knee?”

“Yup.”

“The weird one?”

“Yeah, well, she _was_ a little weird. But aren’t we all?” He rubs one hand over the scruff of his beard, considering. “Maybe life is about finding people whose weird fits with your own.”

“Maybe.” Yasha’s eyes are distant for a moment, and Caduceus wonders who she’s thinking about, Zuala or Molly or someone else whose loss has sharpened the edge of Yasha’s rage. _“_ Would you like to talk about her? Your sister, I mean.”

Caduceus nods. “I would, if you don’t mind.” He thinks about Clarabelle, first to leave the Blooming Grove, how she had hugged him too tightly when she had left. She’s probably long since run out of the blackberry sage tea he had given her the day she set off, but that’s all right. He made sure to bring some extra with him, in case they run into each other. “I miss her.”

Caduceus and Yasha drink tea together while Clarabelle curls around them, providing warmth and a comfortable flank to lean against. Somehow, even though Caduceus is thousands and thousands of miles away from the Blooming Grove, it still feels a little bit like home.

**Author's Note:**

> If I could do the drawing thing, I'd totally draw Clarabelle, the first barbarian of the Clay family. Nature isn't all cute animals and gentle rains after all. 
> 
> I'm angel-ascending on Tumblr and angel_in_ink on Twitter if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


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